Graham and Mia met each other during the first-year students’ induction. They were part of the new intake and they behaved like it – shy, a bit nervous, perhaps even a bit homesick, it being their first time away from there. Each took a liking to the other, and during a break, played a game of true or false to get to know each other. It was, of course, ladies first.

"I play the violin," she offered.

Graham studied her, and after a few moments, said, "I’d say true."

"Yes!" she smiled. "Your turn."

"I wrote an essay that was published in a newspaper."

It was her turn to observe him. "I’d say true, you look the thoughtful type."

"Yes, true. Okay, now you."

"By the time I left school, I was the wrestling champion."

Graham choked on his coffee, then recovered enough to say, "False, definitely false."

Mia raised an eyebrow. "True, actually."

"No! Go on!" He shook his head, taking in her femininity: her pretty face, gentle features and delicate movements.

"I’ll show you if you like," she suggested. We’ve got an hour, we can use the cage and lock the entrance so no one can watch."

"But I’ve got no shorts with me!"

"Then fight naked. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fought a naked man."

"What?"

"Never mind that now. Well? Are you up for it?"

"Okay then," he agreed, finding this enigmatic girl fascinating.

*****

He wasn’t quite so keen, standing there naked in the cage, covering his manhood. But Mia took charge, telling him not to be embarrassed. He noticed she was at home in the environment, and he found himself wondering about her wrestling exploits – even trying to picture them in his mind. Her "wrestling gear" (as she called it) helped. She wore a black leotard that emphasised her lovely figure and beautiful breasts, along with pantyhose, which drew his attention to her delightful, long, tapering legs. "I always fight in pantyhose," she explained, which he found strangely stimulating.

"Okay," Mia began, keen to get started, "try and attack me. Come on, any way you like."

Graham tried a left kick; she was out of the way and on it instantly. 

"Believe me, now?" she asked, holding his leg so he was immobile.

"No?" she asked again at his silence. "How about this, then?" She hoist his leg up painfully high, hooked her left leg behind his supporting right leg, then punched him. It propelled him backwards and he tripped over her left leg, tumbling onto his back.

15 minutes earlier, Graham had been sipping coffee and chatting to a demure young lady who said she played the violin. Now he was naked and sprawled out on the canvas in a fighting cage, courtesy of said young lady, who was now eyeing him curiously, as if he were an animal at the zoo. That was too much humiliation for a proud young man to take. He got up, angry at the smirking bint. Make a fool out of him, would she? Well, try this!

Graham hurled a right cross; Mia leant out of the way and into him. Seizing his right wrist, still on its path, in her left hand, she held him round his waist in her right hand, locked her right leg around his left leg, and sent him on his way again. But this time, she joined him on the mat and put him in a headlock. 

"Getting annoyed, were we?" she asked, linking her arms around his neck. "Men always do," she chuckled. "They hate getting thrown by a woman! It’s the worst insult for them - which is why I love doing it!"

Mia lay across him, with his face pushed against her right breast (and a little extra push when she uttered the word "woman"). Then she lay front to front and included his arms in the headlock, in effect combining it with a full Nelson. It was too much for a fresh young man, pampered from living at home to take, and Graham passed out.

Mia stood up and admired the result of her handiwork, laughing once more at his bemused state when he recovered.

"You’ll have to do better than that," she chided him mockingly while he was still on his knees. "Come on, attack me from behind." 

Graham ought to have left there and then and put up with his loss of pride. Ah, but that’s the problem. She had only hurt him a little, but he couldn’t tolerate being thrown once by a girl, let alone twice. Plus, there was the no small matter of her making him pass out. Male pride can be a curse.

Instead, he did as she suggested. He grabbed her round her neck and shoulder with his right hand and (he thought) cleverly seized her left hand in his left hand to prevent an elbow strike to his body. But what did he do to prevent a back kick to the balls? Nothing. True, it didn’t occur to him that she would be a dirty fighter. But it was too late to argue rules now, with an elegant pantyhose-clad foot inflicting agony on his balls.

Graham was temporarily paralysed. He couldn’t think straight with the pain. Mia, on the other hand, seemed to calculate several moves in advance. She gripped his right arm in both hands and locked it above her head. Standing on tiptoe, she suddenly, violently, jerked her body forward to provide momentum, while steering him by his arm, and she had the helpless male sailing through the air a third time.

Graham landed on his front for a change, and Mia still had a hold of his right arm. She pulled him by it until he was on one knee, then twisted it behind his back in a half Nelson, kneeling herself to keep the hold steady. Graham, who so far had at least taken his pain almost silently, now roared his feelings as she manoeuvred his arm to inflict a torment to rival even that of his balls previously. 

Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he could feel his body trembling as the pantyhose warrior slowly, steadily ratcheted up the agony to its extreme. What a relief it was when she let go! But then he felt her foot on his back.

"Come on, up you get," she instructed, "there’s work to do."

It was work, was it? He knew very little about this unpredictable young woman; and if she intended to fight professionally, then she would regard it as work. She moved a couple of paces away from him, looked back, and gestured to him to try again. Then she looked away again. 

He held her by her right arm and left shoulder, standing a little to the side to avoid another kick to the balls. She bent forward slightly, disconcertingly rubbing her trim right buttock against his naked manhood for a moment. Then she suddenly stooped, grabbed his right ankle, and heaved his leg horizontally.  It raised the astonished young man off his remaining foot, and he landed with a nasty jolt on his back.

As before, Mia still had a hold of the limb she had used to bring him down (never waste anything) and twisted his foot into an ankle lock. Once again, Graham shouted his feelings. She hauled his foot and ankle to angles, each one more excruciating than the last. All the time, she wore the casual smile of hers that had attracted him to her in the first place. Meanwhile, she banged her left foot back into his balls to give him double torture.

At last, Mia relinquished the hold and retreated a step or two, to observe her victim with amusement. He certainly was a sorry sight (and sound) as he slumped on the canvas, whimpering and holding his injured manhood. She went over and, literally, spoke down to him:

"There’s still time for you to salvage a bit of honour, so why not have another go?"

There was every reason why not, yet the young fool still did. He stood up and faced her, unsure what to do. He played for time by circling the calm young woman, still smiling, one hand on her hip.

"To hell with this," she declared, grabbing his right wrist while palm striking his chin, "we haven’t got all day!"

The pull on his wrist provided extra force to the palm strike, jerking Graham’s head back. It was the first time she had attacked him, and his reluctant respect for her increased with the thought that she could have ended the bout in a few minutes if she had chosen to.

Like this, for example. Mia now held his right hand in both hands and amused herself by locking his fingers in turn. By rights, she should have been exposed to all kinds of counterattacks; but the extreme pain she inflicted on his fingers immobilised him. All he could think about was when the pain was going to end. 

She forced him down to his knees this way, and as his right hand was so weakened, she proceeded to do the same to each finger of his left hand at the same time. For Mia, there was little more exertion than pressing a button; for Graham, he was wasting his energy in futile struggling and shouting. 

Taking his wrists, Mia brought him up to his knees and kicked him in the balls. If only he had turned down her earlier suggestion of having "another go"! She steered him onto his back, but kept her foot on his balls, and proceeded to push with it. Her clear enjoyment at his suffering was pure sadism. (Later, when he had fully recovered, Graham vowed that if any nice young woman told him she was a wrestling champion, he would simply answer, "Oh, okay, I don’t wrestle myself.") 

Mia let go of his wrists and lay over him for a few moments, teasing him with her shapely body. Angry that he didn’t appreciate it (well you wouldn’t, would you, if you had just endured what he had?) she sat facing him, held him by his feet, and did the same kick-then-push to his balls.

"Enough, enough! I can’t take any more!" Graham yelled, and Mia consented.

She stood over him and celebrated, then made for the cage door. Once there, she turned to face him and told him they had half an hour to shower, then get back to the induction. She looked at an imaginary watch to emphasise the point. 

Needless to say, Graham didn’t attend the rest of the induction.